


Out Of Time

by Ethelred



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: (and italics), (in brackets), Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Implied grief, M/M, Post-Reichenbach reunion, Sentiment, Sherlock's Violin, Smells like tea, Stream of Consciousness, Time to make it right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 17:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethelred/pseuds/Ethelred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>(What do I do… What do I do? Why are you looking at me like that? What should I do? You're here. I can touch you. You won't go away if I touch you. You won't disappear. You won't fall. Not anymore. Otherwise… If you fall again… I'll fall with you. I'll bleed with you, I'll go cold with you. I'll die with you. I just… I need something. Your touch. You. If I keep close, I can make sure you're still alive. That your heart's still beating. If it isn't, mine won't either. Like last time. Like three years ago. But literally. I'll follow you this time. Yes. Literally. That's why I need to… I can't erase these three years. I can't delete your magic trick. Your death. I think you understood, too. This. Now. That's new. Old… and something more. Can't be anything else. Anything less. More of… You. Us. I…)</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out Of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mad-Chestnut-Tree](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mad-Chestnut-Tree).



> Happy birthday, my dear! 
> 
> Many thanks to my super darth-beta, Kami.
> 
> And thank you for reading!

John crept silently down the stairs. The shock of Sherlock's earlier return had diluted into a dull ache. He didn't trust himself to maintain his composure around him yet, but night time and restlessness weren't a good combination. He was just so thirsty.

_(He came back. He didn't die. Or did he? I saw him. He fell. Did he lie? He didn't after all. He lied about the rest. I didn't know. Damn. Not the violin again. I don't think I'm ready for… for that. Not yet. A simple glass of water. That's all I need. Please. Don't let me go down that road. I don't know where it leads to. Don't… I don't know what to do. Don't push me too far. I don't think I can handle it. Please… Stop it. Don't.)_

John entered the kitchen. The melody didn't falter. Sherlock seemed more oblivious to the world than ever, his blue dressing gown swishing from side to side with his movements. The soft light reflected on his ebony curls. Their dancing glow was oddly mesmerizing.

_(Did you play during these three years? Did it help you think? Or were you silenced by your own death? Did you miss it? I missed it. I missed it terribly. So much I could hear you. But you weren't there. Not really. Only your phantom remained. Oozing from your things scattered around the flat. I couldn't ignore it. Didn't want to. Wasn't able to **.** It was so confusing. Being attracted and repulsed at once. Until I couldn't step over the threshold anymore. You overflowed. You engulfed me once again. I didn't fight it. I ran away. Strategic retreat. But you came back. I can only accept it. The violin doesn't lie. It won't let you. I've never heard this piece before. Is it yours?)_

The red armchair sagged under John's weight, a glass of water standing half empty on the kitchen table. Sherlock's deft fingers continued to bring out subtle tunes. John could only close his eyes.

_(I know. I know you're sorry.)_

Sherlock turned around as the final notes faded into the air. John's sleeping form didn't stir from the lack of sound. It was finally his time to seem dead to the world.

_(Welcome back.)_

* * *

Sherlock's ears were still ringing. The echoes of his improvisation slowly drifted out of his mind. He was having difficulties resurfacing from his daze.

_(John.)_

John was fast asleep. Sherlock replaced his violin carefully in its case.

_(I'm sorry. John… I'm sorry. I came back. I won. I failed… I still am. Since I'm a little boy, for the rest of my life. Sentiment. I'm not used to doing this. I don't think I've ever done it before. Not consciously anyway. Not like that. Not the ordinary way. I can deduce you. The things you've done. What you are. But not what you think. I don't like it. So predictable yet so opaque. John. I'm not used to asking for answers. To waiting. I'm oblivious to what you aren't. I'm not aware of what you are. But I can't follow you there. Not without you.)_

_(John. I thought you were angry. Now you don't seem anything like it… Just tired. Exhausted. Fading? I don't know what you think. No. What you feel. You made it difficult to keep my thoughts rational. Sentiment. How hateful. I don't like it. Now that I'm aware of it. You. You made me see it. John. You enlightened it. I see… I see blurred forms without any shape. I can't see anything, really. Well. I see but can't observe. How ironical. I acted upon it without realizing it. Sentiment… How do you cope? How can you name all these layers and shades? How can you organize them? Understand them? I need to know. I must know. I can't function correctly without regulating these new parameters. Music helps. Helps me think. But it isn't enough. I need to assimilate it. Gauge it. Grasp it. Comprehend it. These things happening inside me. Why are you here? Why did you come listen to me play?)_

_(Earlier. You didn't want to be noticed. I let you. I thought you were angry. You shouted, after all. You went to your room. You didn't clean up your broken mug. I couldn't get all the tea out of the rug. It smells… like home. Like you. But now you're asleep. John. You didn't say a word. Are you still angry? I need to know. I don't know why. I don't like it. Not knowing. From both sides. I'm sorry. I don't know how to say it. Tell you. I don't know. John. I'm sorry.)_

Sherlock snapped out of his stupor as John stirred. He went to his bedroom, where his cold white blanket had been lying undisturbed for the last three years. He took it back to the living room. Wrapped it around John.

_(Are you cold? You seem cold. You need to sleep. Or you'll be grumpy tomorrow morning. Your neck seems stiff. Are you uncomfortable? Predictable. You'll feel sore tomorrow. I should reposition it… There. It seems better. Are you okay? Are you angry? Oh. I was right. Your hair is soft. Sorry. Do you mind if I…? May I? It's warm. Smooth. Sorry. I should stop. I'm going to wake you. I can't... You. You're finally here. You're real. I… You. Finally.)_

John sighed. Sherlock's hands stilled in his hair, his eyes fixed on John's forehead. They wouldn't close. They weren't really seeing, actually. It didn't last. A moment out of time. Could have been forever; a void in temporality. No finality under this trance.

* * *

John's eyes fluttered open. Sherlock stood still, towering over him. A look of confusion crossed John's face. They both kept motionless. Neither seemed to be able to shift this point of inertia.

_(Wh… What? Sherlock? What are you doing here? Ah… Right. You didn't die. Well… You were dead. Then you came back. Did I fall asleep? Yes. I must have. I'm warm. Oh… The blanket. Thanks… I guess. Why did you stop playing? Oh… Oh. Okay. That's new. Are you okay? You seem a bit lost here. Your hands… Why are your hands in my hair? Hey… Are you all right? Hey, Sherlock…. Look at me… Don't make that blank face… No. You're… What are you staring at? Did I grow horns while I was sleeping? Reconnect. You're too far gone. I thought you came back… You're miles away. Inside that head of yours. Why are your hands still in my hair? I didn't grow horns, did I? I was joking. Hey. Stop that. I don't know what to do. I was supposed to be angry. I… You said you were sorry. Your violin did. Hey… No, really. Stop it. Stop that. What's wrong? You… Sherlock. I just…)_

* * *

_(John. John. Sorry. I woke you up. I…)_

_(I just…)_

"I…"

A gasp.

"I…"

Moist was glistening behind Sherlock's lower eyelashes. It spread to veil his eyes with an unusual shine. His fingers twitched against John's skull.

"I…"

* * *

_(No. You… Sherlock, you're not okay. Snap out of it. Why are you so still? Your fingers… Hey, Sherlock…)_

"Sherlock…"

John's right hand tentatively crept through the space between them. His fingertips lingered on Sherlock's neck, feeling for his pulse.

"I…"

The shattered sound vibrated under John's hand. He trailed it softly downwards, brushing along the exposed collarbone.

_(I'm sorry. I shouldn't be doing this. It's not appropriate. Sorry. Can't help it. Magnetism. Sherlock. Don't cry. Why are your hands still in my hair? If you don't let go… I'm… I'm going to…)_

Sherlock's gaze had snapped to John's eyes at his touch. The hesitant contact had reconnected him with reality.

"John…"

He met Sherlock's stare as time stretched again. Stilled. Surrounded them like the calm before the storm.

* * *

_(John.)_

Sherlock inhaled a shaky breath.

_(John. You…)_

* * *

In a flurry of movement, John abruptly pressed Sherlock's body against his. He buried his head in Sherlock's torso, his ear picking up a frantic heartbeat. Sherlock's hands were resting between John's shoulders and the armchair, trapped. A single tear dropped onto John's nape. The vice grip of his arms tightened around Sherlock's body.

_(You're alive. Sherlock… Christ. You're really here. It's you. Let me… I want to… Don't go anywhere. Don't. I… You're real. You're warm. Not soaked in blood. Not cold on the pavement. Your pulse… You're really real. Human. Living. Jesus. That's too much. You were dead… Shock. That's the shock talking. Yes. Finally. I need to realize… You're here. You move. Not just a corpse anymore. You breathe. You think. You… Sentiment? I need to… I need…)_

"John. My legs, I can't…"

John re-opened his eyes as he loosened his arms around Sherlock's back. Their posture had made it difficult for his lanky flatmate to keep his balance. John could only follow as Sherlock's legs gave out, his arms clutching at John's neck. They tumbled down onto the rug in a tangle of limbs, the blanket caught between their feet.

_(Wha…What was that? Ow… Oh! Sherlock! You…)_

"Sorry, I—"

"No, John, if I had just—"

"No, I—"

"John, are you—"

"Sherlock."

John was pressing a silencing finger over Sherlock's restless mouth. His body, trapped between John's and the floor, stilled immediately. Watery eyes settled on the face above him. Close. Very close.

_(What do I do… What do I do? Why are you looking at me like that? What should I do? You're here. I can touch you. You won't go away if I touch you. You won't disappear. You won't fall. Not anymore. Otherwise… If you fall again… I'll fall with you. I'll bleed with you, I'll go cold with you. I'll die with you. I just… I need something. Your touch. You. If I keep close, I can make sure you're still alive. That your heart's still beating. If it isn't, mine won't either. Like last time. Like three years ago. But literally. I'll follow you this time. Yes. Literally. That's why I need to… I can't erase these three years. I can't delete your magic trick. Your death. I think you understood, too. This. Now. That's new. Old… and something more. Can't be anything else. Anything less. More of… You. Us. I…)_

* * *

John rested his elbows on either side of Sherlock's head, leaning down on his forearms. The caress left by John's finger against his lips had made Sherlock shudder. John licked his lips, his head drawn down by gravity. Closer.

_(John. John. This. I think I understand. A bit. I need… Please. I just need… I… John. Please, John… I… You—_

_This—_

_Oh—)_

Their eyes slid shut as John's lips carefully touched Sherlock's. Another instant passed. Sherlock laid numbly, fingers twitching once again. He exhaled unsteadily then sucked in a sharp breath. John shifted a bit to brush Sherlock's lower lip with the tip of his tongue. He captured it softly between his teeth, sucking on it, eliciting a low groan from Sherlock. A rosy blush spread across his cheekbones.

_(John, I…)_

John's slow ministrations halted when Sherlock's mouth opened, his teeth scraping against John's lips. The bashful contact grew bolder, Sherlock licking at the point of John's incisive. His stiff arms winded around John's neck, bringing him closer still.

"John…!"

Sherlock jolted against John, throwing his head back. John, still sucking on his tongue, swallowed his moan. Their heated agitation shifted its focus as John's mouth trailed downwards. He leisurely nipped the corner of Sherlock's jaw, running a hand through his curls.

"Ah— John, I'm… John—"

Sherlock's whines grew louder as John licked down his exposed throat. His mouth then settled on the junction of his shoulder and neck, sucking hard on the sensitive spot. Sherlock's arms pressed him further against his trembling form.

* * *

_(Sherlock. You're beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. You should see yourself. You'd understand. This is a surrender. I surrender. You too. Sentiment. That's… That's what makes us whole. As long as we're like this. Together. This is heaven. You'd laugh. You'd say I'm a romantic. Well… I'm a blogger. Your blogger. Yours…)_

"John… I think I— Ah— I understand… I—'

John swiped his tongue one last time across the forming hickey. He blew softly on it, then over the glistening trail he had left on Sherlock's neck. The hand still buried in silky hair gripped stronger, granting access to a reddening ear.

"Did you know that when you blush," John licked the outside of its shell, "it spreads up to the tip of your ears?"

"Unnecessary data, John. And not amusing in any w— _ah_ —!"

Sherlock's voice died in his throat as John bit playfully on the lobe. He suckled at it, drawing more keen sounds from Sherlock. His free hand cupped Sherlock's jaw, his thumb sweeping fondly against his cheekbone. Withdrawing a bit, he whispered directly in his ear.

"Don't leave me… Sherlock. Not anymore. I understood it. Three years ago. You… I…"

"Sherlock. I…"

" _I love you._ "

* * *

_(John. John. John! John… I… I…)_

John's sweeping thumb was met with fresh dampness. Sherlock's eyes blinked repeatedly. He turned his head, searching for John through a blurry haze.

"I…"

Sherlock's desperate movements made him roll onto his side, reversing their positions. John smiled at Sherlock now straddling him. Open. Alleviated. Another of Sherlock's stray tears fell down onto his cheek.

_(This… John. You… This is— Is it… Unconditional—? I… Do you… Do you forgive me? I—_

_I feel— I should— I… Me…)_

" _Me too._ "

Sherlock closed the gap between them to kiss him. The hand clutched in his hair tightened as he ravished John.

_(More. I need more. May I…? That's not enough… I need… You. I need you. More. I… John, what are you doing? Ah… You…)_

"John, please… I—"

"Yes. I… Sherlock, may I—"

"Yes."

John, his other hand halfway under Sherlock's shirt, raked his short nails down Sherlock's spine. Flattening his palm on the small of his back, he trailed it further down. His hand dipped under Sherlock's pants, stopping there. A violent shudder rippled through Sherlock.

"N—now."

Sherlock rested his forehead against the crook of John's neck. The wandering hand dipped further down, massaging velvety flesh. Breathy moans slipped out of Sherlock's mouth. His quivering limbs sagged against John's body as his back arched, rubbing their hardening erections together.

"Sh—Sherlock—"

* * *

John's low groan was followed shortly by his flatmate's, uttered right in his ear. Making use of Sherlock's momentary yielding, he reversed their positions in a swift movement. Both hands now free, he got hold of the hem of Sherlock's shirt. Their eyes locked as he slowly ran his hands up Sherlock's torso. Goosebumps were scattering in their wake.

_(Sherlock… You're a marvel. I… To think I lost you for three years… When I thought I could never have this… Have you… I don't know what I… Look at you. Just look at you… You're so… I…)_

John extended a hand to Sherlock's forehead, brushing a stray curl back in his tousled hair. Ebony curls and reddened lips contrasted with his fair skin, blue eyes piercing through thick eyelashes. All dishevelled, out of breath, he was the epitome of exquisite debauchery.

"Beautiful."

His fingertips roaming over Sherlock's torso, John leaned down to dip his tongue into his navel. Sherlock's body jerked at the contact.

"John…"

John's mouth travelled higher, circling a hard nipple. Sherlock's chest heaved with his agonized breathing, his heart frantic against his ribcage. John sucked sharply on his nipple, causing a low rumble to turn into a low-pitched groan spilling from Sherlock's lips. He raised his head.

"May I…?"

His hands gripped the waistband of Sherlock's pants, waiting.

_(So gorgeous. So delightful. You came back. You're alive. You're here. With me. I know you said you were sorry. I… Please. I want to touch you. Feel you. Can you… I… More. I need…)_

Sherlock nodded. His gaze bore up into John's, eyes never leaving the darker pair as John pushed down his clothing. The cool air on his heated skin made him shiver.

* * *

"Ah— John—!"

The foreign touch made him start, his back arching off the rug. Sherlock's fists, on either side of his head, were clenched tight. John moved his hand along the length of Sherlock's prick, building up a slow rhythm.

_(More. I need more. I need… John…)_

"J—John—"

The delicious friction was increased as John lowered himself to kiss Sherlock. One of Sherlock's hands, the one that wasn't clutching John's hair at his nape, trailed cautiously downwards.

_(I want to… John… This is all new to me… But I… I want… You too. You… I—_

_Let me just—)_

"Ah—! Sherlock, wha—"

John's pace became more erratic as Sherlock palmed him though his pyjama trousers. His trembling fingers disappeared into John's pants, taking hold of his cock. John's response made him throw his head back in pleasure.

"Oh Christ Sherl—"

Both men were now rubbing against each other, erections pressed together. The frantic rhythm of their touching hands took a desperate turn, edging towards release.

"John—"

John licked at Sherlock's collarbone, mouthing his name at the base of his neck. Sherlock tipped over the edge as John twisted his hand, making his toes curl. He was drowning in ecstasy. John's release followed shortly after as he tried to stifle a particularly loud moan.

_(I… I just… You… You.)_

_(John.)_

* * *

Time disentangled as they caught their breath. They seemed utterly spent. Sherlock stretched lazily, curling his body towards John. His flatmate used the forgotten blanket to clean up the mess between them. Draping himself around Sherlock, John deposited a quick kiss on his plump lips before resting his head over his heart.

"Welcome back."

"Thank you. I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I think I understand, now. A bit. Sentiment."

"Yes."

"I— I love you."

"I know. I love you too."

"I want to die with you."

"I'll die with you. The deal's already been made."

"But I want to live before that. For a long time."

"So do I."

"What did you think? Three years ago, I mean."

"I didn't think. It died."

"It?"

"All that's not transport."

"Oh. The deal."

"But then it came back."

"Because of me?"

"Not because of you. _With_ you."

"…I'm— I'm happy, I think."

"You _think_?"

"New data."

"You'll need to test it?"

"Over extended periods of time, yes."

"…Need any assistance?"

"I'd be lost without my blogger."

* * *

"Sherlock?"

"… _What?_ "

"Why does the rug smell like tea?"


End file.
